By Definition
by Firestar9mm
Summary: Claire tugged at the sleeves of her own flame-retardant, compression-fit shirt, which was making her feel like she'd Saran-wrapped herself.  "I still think this would be funnier if I went as Chris and you went as Jill."


**Author's Introduction:**

I wrote this because I was just plain tired of not having posted anything substantial in, like, forever. Oh, and also because Halloween is my favorite holiday. It's cross-posted on an LJ community I play at, but it's being posted here because **darkwood**, who was nice enough to be the second set of eyes for this, suggested I put it here, too.

Go read her fics. Do it now. I command you.

_Wait_—wait. Read this first. Then go read her fics.

Yes, do that. (winks.)

* * *

**By Definition**

_A Halloween Resident Evil fic by Firestar9mm_

_Cause she's so seasonal._

_

* * *

_

"Does this beret make me look fat?"

Adjusting the beret she'd stuffed her red hair under, Claire Redfield turned to dimple at her boyfriend, who grinned at her.

"They do say a beret adds ten pounds," Leon Kennedy quipped, then added, "You should have gotten a wig."

She gave him a look, pointing an M92F at him in lieu of her forefinger as she said, "I told you I wasn't getting a wig if you weren't willing to spike your hair." The M92F was fake, so the real danger lay in her glare, but Leon only smiled.

"I _can't_ spike my hair, angel wings," Leon laughed, tossing his shock of hair out of his eyes for emphasis. "It won't look right. The clothes should be enough for the rest of them to recognize who we're supposed to be." He was wearing fatigue pants, a compression-fit crew-necked shirt, and combat boots, but had refused to do anything different to his hair.

"And I hope you appreciate all the trouble I had to go to infiltrating enemy territory to get them. Especially the patches. It's a good thing I had my Swiss Army knife." Claire tugged at the sleeves of her own flame-retardant, compression-fit shirt, which was making her feel like she'd Saran-wrapped herself. "I still think this would be funnier if _I_ went as Chris and _you_ went as Jill."

"Not just no. Hell no," Leon said, adjusting the tactical vest he was wearing. He gave her a grin. "The beret would mess up my hair." Glancing down at her holster, he added, "Maybe we shouldn't bring the guns."

"Please. They're Airsoft," Claire said, following his gaze. She snapped the holster shut over her gas-powered Beretta replica and adjusted the straps on her shoulder rig-the undergear was tight enough without having to worry about the hardware digging into her. "We're not even going to draw down," she assured Leon, then laughed. "Unless one of the bar patrons gets a little fresh."

"_Please_ let me handle that if it happens," Leon purred, and his voice was bloodthirsty, the sort of warm anticipation that was usually followed by a crack of knuckles.

Claire smiled affectionately at him. Normally she wasn't a fan of what Jill Valentine had once eloquently referred to as "macho crap", but she didn't see any harm in indulging Leon every once in a while. She was perfectly capable of taking care of herself, and as a result he so rarely got to flex his claws. Still, she felt in the mood to tease him a little.

"It's not enough you're dressed like my brother, now you want to act like him, too?"

"That's some big shoes to fill." Leon glanced down at his size thirteen combat boots, then grinned at her. "Figuratively, not literally."

She shoved him playfully, grinning. "Jerk."

She wasn't really trying with the shove, but even if she'd been giving it her all it would have taken quite an effort to move him, and she was no slouch. One of the things that turned her on the most about Leon Kennedy was the aura of strength around him, the way he disturbed the very air around him with his commanding presence; now he seized her pushing hands in his and drew her against his chest. The urge to close her eyes was overwhelming, the better to feel how rock steady he was, savor the high relief of his muscles against her beneath his own compression-fit shirt and the tactical vest she'd "borrowed" from Chris the last time she'd visited. She hadn't been kidding about the difficulty in procuring their costumes, which they'd planned months in advance-it had not been easy to race into the bedroom and locate everything they needed, and she'd barely had time to cut the patches off one of his old uniform shirts and get everything stuffed back into its trunk before Chris caught her and asked her what in the hell she was doing.

Leon's smile was amused. "Is it going to weird you out to kiss a guy dressed like your brother?"

Shrugging her arms gently out of his embrace, she slid her hands to cradle his face. "Let me try to get past it," she murmured, and all teasing subtext faded beneath a soft, slow kiss. Beyond her closed eyes, she felt Leon's hand spread against the small of her back and press her to him harder, and when they broke apart she hid her blush in his shoulder, still so surprised at how such a simple touch could move her.

"We don't have to go," she said softly, pulling back to look in his eyes. October had been a rough month for Leon-he'd been gone for over half of it defusing a guerrilla unit in Peru who were suspected of possessing biological agents, and Claire had given serious thought to not attending this party when he'd stumbled home days earlier with a dislocated shoulder, field stitches on his forearm and several interesting bruises. After he'd been disinfected and restitched, she'd offered to just stay in with him all weekend if he wanted to rest, but Leon wouldn't hear it. Not only had he insisted she go, he'd refused to let her go by herself, and looking at him now you wouldn't have thought he'd been a bleeding, painkiller-addled mess not too long ago.

"We're going," he said, just as softly but with far more conviction. "You're always saying your brother saved your life, Claire. Spare him a few hours of it."

It wasn't the first time Leon had made a big deal out of her spending time with Chris; it was almost as though he felt responsible for reminding her. Claire wasn't sure if this was because Leon might have felt he was stealing her away from her brother, or if it was just because of how little he saw his own family, who she knew next to nothing about.

"O.K.," she conceded. "But maybe take it easy? And if you're not feeling up to it, _tell_ me and we'll leave. All right?"

His smile never wavered. "I feel fine. This'll be fun," he said, which was a lie, but a loving one. Claire knew he'd much rather be staying in with her, watching a lame scary movie on cable and whittling their clothing down until they could make love and fall asleep tangled in each other. Instead, she was dragging him out to a dive bar in costume so they could drink with her brother and their mixed crowd of coworkers. She felt like a heel.

As if sensing her reluctance, Leon took her hand and gently led her to the door. "Come on, we're going to be late. Got your gun?"

"I don't deserve you," Claire murmured as he locked the apartment door behind them. "I'll make this up to you. I promise."

Shaking his head, Leon pulled her close once more and Claire reveled again in the strength of his embrace. He bent her back slightly, like they were in a Hollywood epic. "Give me some sugar, baby."

Just like that, the tension evaporated and Claire laughed, reminded all over again how happy this man could make her in the space of a second. "I love it when you talk like Bruce Campbell, ace."

* * *

Claire loved Halloween. In a world where she had to fight so hard to appear "normal" to a legion of humans whose lives were "normal", it was a relief to have a day where people went out of their way not to be ordinary. The bar was packed wall-to-wall with people in foil, glitter, lace and leather. Everyone seemed to be having a good time, laughing, dancing and spilling beer on each other's store-bought or homemade costumes.

Despite the fact that the bar was a dive-or maybe _because_ it was-there was a great turnout. People came less for the advertised costume contest, the cheesy orange and black foil garland and the ragged cardboard bats and witches Scotch-taped to the walls than they did for two-dollar Rheingolds and a dance floor that took up the entire back of the building. The layout was simple-two open-plan rooms, the smaller leading straight back to the larger, with two bars set like islands of liquor in the center of each floor. The smaller bar was a perfect square with two bartenders to work its four sides, with the bathrooms on the left side and a row of tables against the right wall. The larger, more rectangular bar extended from the beginning of the second and larger room to the dance floor, and required four bartenders to deal with the flow of customers. At the very back of the building was a stage, used mostly for lame cover bands and hot body contests when the weather was warmer. Tonight it held only a DJ in one corner and would be where the costume contest would be judged. The dance floor was already packed with people in all stages of dress and undress.

Happily navigating the brightly-colored, cheerful crowd, Claire realized Leon had been right. She was glad she had the opportunity to spend a holiday with her brother, even a holiday as whimsical as Halloween, because if it hadn't been for Chris, her life would have been devoid of holidays. They had been orphaned years ago, and despite their eventually differing orbits-foster care, the USAF, college-Chris had always gone out of his way to give her holidays. As she grew up, Claire became accustomed to waking up on Christmas Day without her mother and father, but she never woke up on that day without something from Chris-if not his physical presence, then at the very least a message and a gift. The pink vest with the very familiar embroidered angel that she'd given to Sherry Birkin had in fact been a Christmas present from Chris. When they'd been reunited after the Antarctica battle, she'd apologized for giving away his gift; the following Christmas, he'd replaced it with a similarly embroidered leather jacket. Claire had no doubt that the vest would also be replaced one day. Such were the nature of her brother's gifts; they were her way to have him with her, no matter where they went. No matter how old they got, Christmas would always be the time of year she came the closest to feeling undamaged, and she'd always be grateful to her brother for that.

But Halloween was a different story. Halloween was pure fun, and an excuse for the Redfield creativity to come alive. When she was a child, Claire had delighted in helping her brother with his complicated schemes to frighten the other neighborhood kids. Often, she'd be the one giving out candy while he lay in wait in nearby shrubbery, ready to scare the living daylights out trick-or-treaters with a hockey mask and a bike-chain chainsaw. Her favorite trick had been the time when Chris had dressed her up in the fluffiest, most harmless-looking costume they could find-a fairy princess affair with a tulle skirt, sparkling wings and a magic wand. She'd begged a nearby group of teenagers to help her, cried that a scary man was chasing her. When they'd valiantly offered to escort her home, Chris had leaped out from behind a fence in a jumpsuit and a Michael Meyers mask. The teenagers, forgetting their heroic promises, bolted like blinkered ponies, leaving their Halloween candy behind. Chris had generously given Claire a bigger portion of it since she'd had to do all the acting, and they'd eaten it later watching _It's the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown_ on network television. Recalling the kids' terror and sharing the candy, the Redfields had laughed for hours.

When scaring neighborhood kids had become passe, the Redfields had graduated to costume competitions. Claire, having an overprotective older brother and therefore unable to utilize some of the sexier costume choices, had been at a real disadvantage and had to really stretch her creativity, but Chris was anything but a poor sport. The year she'd beaten his Predator getup by putting a name tag that said "Ripley" on one of his flight suits and carrying a prop flamethrower and a plush tabby cat in a carrier, Chris had been the first to pour her a beer and suggest they team up the following year.

However, once Leon and Jill had gotten into the act, the battle lines had been drawn and it had become all-out war. In the beginning, Leon had been a far better sport about it, happy to offer suggestions and go along with Claire's outlandish costume ideas. By contrast, Jill had been very reluctant to be Chris's costume prop, but after a few years in the trenches she'd become just as bloodthirsty and competitive as the rest of them. Now her outrage at Claire and Leon's costume choice showed plainly on her face as she came around the bar to meet them.

"You guys," she trilled, extending her arms to Claire for a hug. Claire allowed herself to be squeezed for a minute, then drew back to watch in triumph as Jill tossed her hair and finished her sentence: "..._suck_."

Leon grinned at Jill, letting her loop her arm around his neck and smack her lips against his cheek. "Hey, Jill. Nice costume," he added. "If you guys go to a sci-fi convention, you can even use it again."

"Ha, ha. I'm pretty sure I hate every single one of you." Jill was braving the bar in a chain-mail bikini top, a slit skirt and sandals, with her hair braided in a complicated manner and glitter dusted across her cheekbones and highly visible decollete.

Claire smiled, although it was a bit of an evil smile. "Don't listen to him, Jill. You look great, really."

"I look like the pinups in every geek's basement," Jill groused, tugging on her bikini straps. "I _wanted_ to be Luke Skywalker, but Chris said that would look gay."

"He's really scraping the bottom of the barrel if he insisted on the Slave Girl Leia costume," Claire said gleefully. "_Please_ tell me he's dressed as Jabba the Hutt."

"No such luck." Jill just pointed to where Chris was at the bar ordering drinks in slacks, an open-necked button down, and a dark vest. "Have fun explaining where our tactical gear went."

Chris's look of surprise at their getup was even better than Jill's. Pointing his forefinger at Claire like a pistol, he said, "If your life had a face, I would punch it."

Claire beamed at her brother. "Love youuuu."

Leon sketched a mock salute. "Captain Solo."

Chris sneered. "You _wish_ you were me," he said, then grabbed Leon's hand to shake it. "I think you guys take it this year." He treated them to a dazzling grin, which looked remarkably similar to what Leon called Claire's Made In Heaven Special. "No one's going to fault you for wanting to look as cool as me and Jill."

"A _younger_ version of you and Jill," Leon said cheekily, then ducked as Chris attempted to smack him upside the head.

Claire snickered. "My brother, ever the good sport. How about you congratulate us by buying us a beer, Chris?"

Chris's grin widened as he turned to Leon. "You heard her, man. Buy the lady a beer."

Leon blinked in surprise. "She meant _you_, Chris."

Chris threw a wink as he escaped through the crowd in search of Slave Girl Jill. "You sure look like Chris to me."

Before they could give chase, someone was tapping Claire's arm. "Don't you get tired of wearing combat gear all the time?"

Normally this sort of question would have torqued Claire off, but it was pretty much impossible to get annoyed at their IT specialist. Looking at Darla, it was hard to believe that she'd done a 1-year bid of hacking before TerraSave had convinced her to use her powers for good instead of for ticking off big business. Darla looked about as malicious as a kitten; she had big hazel eyes beneath a roof of bangs, straight dark hair, and usually wore t-shirts that said things like "Talk Nerdy to Me" or a joke written in Binary.

"Hi, Darla," Claire said, stoically bearing the air-kiss most girls insisted on instead of shaking hands. "Um...what are you supposed to be?"

Darla had on bike shorts, sneakers and a long white shirt. She'd pasted small copies of everyone's office ID photos on it in a vertical line and written things next to them in different colors of Magic Marker. "Oh, I'm Facebook," she said, grinning shyly and pointing at one of the pictures. "See? There's you."

Claire squinted. Across Darla's midriff, there was indeed a small photo square that contained her face-and she'd always hated that ID picture-with the words "**Claire Redfield** knows her way around a bioterror outbreak" next to it.

"Darla, you know I don't _have_ a Facebook, right?" Claire laughed.

"But if you did, I'd be your friend." Darla smiled, then turned to Leon, sticking out her hand. "I'm Darla. Claire Redfield is in a relationship with...?"

Leon, who didn't have a Facebook either but could appreciate the joke, smiled and shook her hand. "Leon Kennedy. Clever costume, Darla. That ought to be worth a few bar dollars."

"Only if they douse me with water," Darla sighed, glancing around at some of the more scantily clad patrons, and Leon and Claire laughed. "Have you seen Wendell tonight?"

"No, but he's probably pestering Faye, so if you find her, you might find him." Claire hated to point this out to Darla, whom she suspected of having a crush on the new hire, but the hacker wasn't stupid. She nodded and loped off through the crowd.

As it turned out, Leon and Claire stumbled onto Wendell first-he was at the bar, buying a drink for the unappreciative receptionist, Faye Hannamon. Faye's long black mane was perfect for her costume, which was a black velvet minidress with bell sleeves. She was covered in glitter, and while she wasn't smiling at Wendell's attempts to get into her good graces, if she had Claire was sure her eyeteeth would have been pointy.

Leon brushed his mouth against Claire's and headed to the bar without asking her what she wanted to drink. Claire smiled in anticipation; if he brought her back a Killian's then he just wanted to flirt, but if he started her with a margarita this early, he wanted to get her drunk. And that was a very clear indicator of how he expected the night to end.

Unfortunately, she had to get the pleasantries with her coworkers out of the way first. The pretense was that she had come here to show her solidarity with them-not to have fun.

Claire was not fond of Faye Hannamon, who was clearly doing the bare minimum her job required while waiting for either a modeling career to take off or for some rich man to marry her. Now, the younger woman wrinkled her nose while looking at Claire. "What are you supposed to be?"

Before realizing how it sounded, Claire said, "I'm my brother's girlfriend, and he's my brother," and jerked a thumb in Leon's direction. "I mean...anyway, you wouldn't get it."

Faye muttered, "Clearly," and turned abruptly, smacking into Wendell and knocking a pink-colored cocktail all over them both. "Idiot!" Faye snapped, despite it being very obviously her fault, and stormed off, saying, "Never mind!"

Wendell looked briefly crushed; but he smiled at Claire as he mopped at the stain on his polo shirt.. "Hi, Redfield. You and your date look ready to storm a beach."

"Thanks, Wendell. Where's your costume?" she asked. Wendell looked the same as he looked every day-polo shirt, khakis.

"Oh. Here," he said, turning to the bar. He put down the empty glass and picked up what looked like a popsicle stick with a piece of cardboard taped to it. "I'm Tracy, see?" He held the popsicle-stick mask in front of his face and Claire saw that he'd blown up a photo of their office manager yelling during last year's Christmas party, cut out her face and hair, taped it to a piece of cardboard and fastened the popsicle stick to it.

"You are not getting your vacation days this year, Wendell," Tracy hollered from across the bar, her face looking scarily like Wendell's mask. She was dressed as Little Red Riding Hood, complete with a plush wolf in a picnic basket.

Claire smiled. "Brave man, Wendell. She looks mad."

Wendell beamed. "She'll calm down." Then he looked down at his remaining drink. "Want this? I don't like rum, and Faye's gone."

Claire indicated Leon with a flick of her head. "The big guy is taking care of me tonight. Why don't you give it to Darla? She's around here somewhere."

Wendell brightened. "Okay. I want to see what she wrote by my name on her costume."

As soon as he was gone, Claire pushed through the crowd at the bar so she could loop her arm through Leon's. "Why do you let me drag you to these things?"

Leon's answer was to press his lips to her temple and a drink into her hand. "Because you've never made me dress up as Slave Girl Leia."

Claire smiled at her margarita-he wanted her giggly and overheated later, for sure. "Don't feel _too_ sorry for Jill. She had the last laugh the year she dressed as the pimp and Chris was the hooker."

Leon's laugh was loud enough that people looked up from their drinks to see what was so funny.

* * *

Because this year there was virtually no chance of any of them winning bar dollars with their costume choices since Chris and Jill had gone traditional and Claire and Leon were working with an inside joke, the foursome commandeered a table and began dissecting the best contenders. Since their table was against the wall facing the smaller bar, they had an excellent view of both people ordering drinks and people coming through the front doors.

"I had no idea that so many girls were going to dress up as the Green Lantern," Chris said, slugging his beer. "If all the women start dressing up as superheroes, they're not leaving us guys a lot of room for personality here."

"Remember the year we were Batman and Robin?" Claire laughed. "I didn't pay for a drink all night-every guy dressed as Batman couldn't wait to buy me something."

"Yeah, you kept me real busy chasing them off," Chris grumbled good-naturedly. "We're never doing that again."

"_We_ should be judging these things," Jill declared, returning to the table after securing four shots of Wild Turkey. She'd been the obvious choice to go to the bar since her costume was earning them a lot of buybacks. "I think we're pretty much the authority on what is scary and horrible."

"Good thing we're not armed," Leon laughed. "If anyone came in dressed as zombies, we might overreact and start shooting."

"That girl in the lame Bumblebee outfit is going to take it this year," Claire grumbled. "Ever since those stupid 'sexy' costumes got popular, no one thinks outside the box anymore." Glancing across the table, she added, "No offense, Jill."

Jill laughed. "None taken. I didn't pick my costume." She shot an amused glance at Chris through her fake eyelashes. "And these braids are hurting my head."

He grinned right back. "If you hate the costume so much, take it off."

Jill reached over to pat his knee. "Later, Captain Solo."

Claire and Leon exchanged glances, and with the wordless communication that only perfect partners can achieve, simultaneously knocked back their shots.

* * *

The rest of the evening passed by pleasantly enough. They placed bets on the winner of the costume competition, the stakes being three shots of the winner's choice purchased by the other three participants-Leon took that prize by declaring that the guy dressed up as the disgruntled JetBlue flight attendant would win the bar dollars. He traded his three shots for an Irish car bomb, and Claire offered to fetch both that and the next round, shanghaiing Jill to help her carry. They ended up going to the bigger bar to get the drinks, since the smaller bar was choked with an influx of latecomers who were too lazy to walk all the way through before ordering their drinks.

"Your costume is giving me the creeps," Jill laughed as they pushed past a group of twenty-somethings dressed like the X-Men. "It's like looking in a mirror."

"Please," Claire said good-naturedly. "I have to give you points for being brave enough to show up naked to a bar."

"This is not naked," Jill said primly, adjusting her top again. "This is...look, just shut up."

"I'm not judging you!" Claire laughed. "If I had your body, I'd go everywhere naked."

The bartender, a blond guy dressed as a pirate, smiled at the two women. "Just for that, you get a free drink. What'll it be, ladies?" Flipping up his eyepatch, he winked at them.

Claire paid the bartender and handed off the drinks to Jill, who led the way through the crowd but didn't get more than a few steps when she stopped short. Claire knocked into her back, almost spilling Leon's Guinness. Muttering a curse, she said, "Jill, what's up?"

"I'm wondering where my boyfriend is and who that woman is talking to yours," Jill said. Peeking over her friend's shoulder, Claire realized she was right. Chris was nowhere to be seen, and Leon was alone at their table, speaking with a girl dressed in a snow-white minidress with fluffy wings strapped to her back and a maribou halo.

"Don't know her," was Claire's short response. "She's probably just hitting on him."

"And we're waiting to rush over there _why_?" Jill asked.

Claire frowned. "Because we don't _need_ to," she said in disbelief. "Leon isn't going to do anything."

"How many women have gotten him nearly killed or maimed?" Jill retorted dryly.

"Good point. OK, we can get a little closer," Claire muttered, taking small comfort in the fact that Leon had never been nearly killed or maimed because of her. She had happened to be _present_ every so often when it happened, but not the cause.

Since they'd gotten the drinks in the bigger room, Leon's back was to them as they returned to the table-he had insisted on facing the door. Now she was grateful that he couldn't see them approach, not that she thought it would help when her boyfriend was practically James Bond. Claire took the lead and approached the table, getting close enough to hear the girl tell Leon, "My costume's reversible."

Over Claire's shoulder, Jill snorted, which made Claire feel better.

The girl was wobbling on her feet, which was probably more to do with alcohol consumption and less to do with her white PVC go-go boots. Every so often she would totter to one side, leaning towards Leon, and then she would regain her balance again.

"I'll just bet it is," Leon said, and to his credit, he sounded bored. He was looking past the girl, not acknowledging her directly, and an observer got the feeling that if he had a newspaper or anything else to occupy his attention, he'd be reading it.

"Want to guess what's on the other side?" the girl asked, crossing one leg behind the other girlishly, which hiked the already short skirt up quite a bit. Tipping over again, she braced her hand against Leon's shoulder, and he removed it, politely but firmly.

"Not particularly." Leon glanced towards the bar, probably wondering where they were, and Claire relaxed a fraction.

The girl grabbed the back of the chair next to Leon, pulling it away from the table. "How come you haven't asked me to sit down?"

Now Leon finally acknowledged the girl with a smile, and his response was loud enough for both Claire and Jill to hear. "Because that's my girlfriend's seat."

Claire turned a relieved look over her shoulder to Jill. "See, I told you. Can we stop eavesdropping like teenage girls now? It's not attractive on women our age."

Jill smiled sweetly. "Just making sure Chris and I don't have to kill him." She pulled the beret down playfully over Claire's eyes. "Come on, I think your man deserves a drink."

The rebuffed girl was stalking away from the table, the feathers on her wings fluttering as she stomped off. She wouldn't be alone for long; her outfit was already attracting appreciative glances from other men at the bar. Claire felt suddenly, terribly ordinary, surrounded by people who were all dressed like their own wildest fantasies. Intellectually, she knew that she had nothing to worry about, but the woman in her was regretting not wearing something cuter just for the sake of marking her own territory.

"Want to trade costumes?" Claire sighed.

Jill sighed too, strapping her arms around herself as best she could with drinks in her hands. "Do I ever. I haven't been this naked in front of other people since my last physical. Come on, let's sit down and have another drink. Everything's fine."

"Hey, are those our drinks?" Chris appeared seemingly out of nowhere, taking one of the beers from Jill. "Thank you, Jillybean."

"Where were you?" both women asked.

"Destroying the Death Star." Chris grinned cheekily. "I had to hit the head, why, what happened?"

"Nothing, thank goodness," Claire said, feeling suddenly exhausted and wishing they were home.

Chris gave her a curious look. "Everything OK?"

"Sure. Come on, let's go back to the table." Claire sensed she'd given too much away, and while she still felt uneasy, she forced a big smile as she set Leon's drink down in front of him. "Here you go, ace."

Boldly, Leon pulled Claire into his lap. "Thank you, angel wings. Want to do the honors?"

"You got it." This time her smile was real as she dropped the shot of Bailey's into the glass of Guinness, and Chris began a drumroll on the table as Leon knocked the drink back.

Jill gave an appreciative whistle. "Good man. You earned that," she said, and while Claire gave her a warning look, Leon only smiled.

* * *

By the time last call rolled around, Chris had had a few too many and was already planning next year's costumes, which Jill was patiently enduring on their way out the door. "No. We are not doing anything _Rocky Horror_," she said sweetly, Chris's arm looped around her shoulders. "I am not wearing a corset and garters, and honey, you can't fit into 'em," she told him. Smirking at Claire, she added, "Dressing like me was genius-you got to wear pants."

Claire smiled weakly, still feeling iffy about the scantily clad angel who had accosted Leon earlier in the night. "If it makes you feel better, wearing a shoulder rig for non-work activities is a dumb idea." She shrugged her shoulders uncomfortably, feeling stiff.

Jill nodded in Leon's direction. "Maybe you can convince Leon to give you a back rub. You know, since you're not going to have to _carry_ him up the _stairs_ or anything," she added loudly, pretending to stagger under Chris's weight. "If I wore this idiotic costume for nothing, Chris, so help me..."

"Come on, Jill," Chris crooned. "You know how much I appreciate everything you've done for me. And the Alliance. And the Ewoks."

Claire cringed playfully. "Good night, Big Brother," she said, smacking a kiss against his cheek and giving Jill a squeeze. "Drive safe, Jill."

"Do you guys want a ride?" Leon asked. "You could pick up the car in the morning."

"No need. I'm fine, and we're not far." Jill blew a kiss. "Good night, you two. Be good."

Jill could tease Chris, complain about him, complain _to_ him all she wanted, Claire thought affectionately, but the truth of the matter was evident in how tenderly she tucked him into the passenger's seat, even going so far as to assist in buckling his seat belt while he protested that he was fine and could do it himself. Of course, he completely destroyed his own credibility when Jill started the engine. His brow furrowed as he rolled down the window, saying, "Hey, Jill, are you sure this is okay? I don't think I should be driving."

Leon snickered softly and Claire waved, watching them pull away from the curb. Turning to Leon, she asked, "How are _you_ feeling? Want me to drive?"

Leon held the keys out of her reach, smiling as he opened the passenger's side door for her. He was old-fashioned enough to insist on driving unless he was severely injured or intoxicated, but she knew it embarrassed him to have to ask her to drive on those occasions. "Cut myself off hours ago. I'll be fine. Why, do I look rough?"

He was leaning against the car, hair a little tousled, hazel eyes a little bleary from alcohol and fatigue, dressed in combat gear on one of his few days off, and he'd done it for her, just because she'd asked him to. Overcome once again by her own depth of feeling, she looped her arms around his neck and pressed her lips hard against his. "You look wonderful."

* * *

"Thanks for tonight," Claire said, following Leon into the apartment and tossing the beret onto the kitchen table. It felt so good to shake her hair out. Sitting in a kitchen chair, she unlaced her combat boots and kicked them off along with her socks. "I know you would rather have stayed in, but I'm glad you came along."

Leon laughed, stripping off the tactical vest, which gave her a nice view of the compression-fit under armor clinging to his muscles. "It was worth it to smoke your brother and Jill in the costume war. I think it's safe to say we won this round. I say next year, we dress up like Mulder and Scully. I'll even let you be Scully."

He was teasing her, but the idea of wearing a business suit as a Halloween costume made Claire remember the drunken angel at the bar. He noticed the change in her expression. "What? What's wrong? Didn't you have a good time tonight?"

Claire shook her head, removing her fingerless gloves. "Of course I did. It's just, maybe next year I'll do something a little more daring. Like Jill."

Leon only smiled, and Claire wondered if the government had taught him mind-reading along with everything else they'd trained him to do when he said, "If you're worried about the girl who came by the table while you were gone, don't."

Claire let her arms drop to her sides, already feeling better. "How do you always know what I'm thinking?"

"Because I'm your partner," he purred softly, taking her into his arms, mouth closing firmly on hers. "Because I'm your man."

Claire pressed herself against his chest, opened her mouth eagerly for his kisses. "I'm not worried about the girl who came to the table. I saw you chase her off."

"Then why are you considering putting on a chain mail bikini?" His tone was amused, but the tender way he was nuzzling her cheek told her he wasn't mocking her.

Tilting her head up to look in his eyes, she said, "Why does any girl put on a chain mail bikini?"

"Because their boyfriend dresses up like Han Solo?" Leon asked, and Claire pretended to punch him in the shoulder.

Still, she couldn't fight a blush as she admitted, "To look sexy for her man. Don't tell me you wouldn't like it if I wore a tiny little dress and high-heeled boots."

"Sweetheart, no red-blooded man would complain if you wore a tiny little dress and high-heeled boots," he laughed, stroking her cheek with the back of his hand. She took a slow breath at the change in sensation between the fingerless leather gloves he still wore and his bare knuckles. "I don't think I'd have enough firepower to keep them away from you."

Snorting, Claire tossed her head, shrugging his hand away from her face. "Lucky for you I didn't look sexy tonight, then," she laughed. "Otherwise you'd have been busy."

Leon's smile faded as he considered her comment. Claire started to feel nervous until he said, "You really have no idea, do you?"

"Of wha-ah." Claire's sentence was interrupted as Leon's hands dropped to her waist, grasped and lifted as if she weighed nothing at all. Claire wrapped her legs around him reflexively, melting helplessly against his chest as they kissed.

"You always look sexy," Leon murmured against his neck as he carried her leisurely to the back of the apartment. Claire reveled briefly in his strength, the ease with which he balanced her while unfastening the buckles of the shoulder holster that he could reach. While she shrugged out of it, he flicked on the overhead light in the bedroom, then shut it off again, thinking better of it.

She arched her brows as he lay her down on the bed, reaching across her to snap on the small bedside lamp, haloing them both in its dim, friendly glow. She stroked absently down his chest, fingers searching for the flat nubs that the tight shirt put on display. He hissed as her fingers tapped and twisted, his reaction bringing a slow smile to her face. "Just want to make sure I'm not going to lose you to some short-skirted, cum-buckety jailbait."

He chuckled at her venom, recovering quickly from her questing fingers. "_You're _the only angel I care about. That girl couldn't hold a candle to you. No girl can."

"Even in tactical gear?" Claire murmured, arching a brow. "Although I use the term loosely."

Reclining beside her, Leon smiled. "There's nothing loose about this," he said, slipping his fingers beneath the hem of her tight shirt and pushing it up to her shoulders. "You may as well be naked." He breathed this hotly against her bare stomach and started his kisses at her navel, tongue sliding briefly inside to tease before he kissed his way up to her breasts, where her no-nonsense sports bra stopped him. The shoulder rig had been enough of a pain to wear that Claire hadn't wanted to deal with even more straps digging into her.

"See?" she asked as she sat up, pulling the shirt over her head and throwing it aside. "_Not_ sexy," she emphasized, drawing an invisible line under the bra with a one-handed gesture, but Leon seized her hand in answer, eyes darkening lustfully as he pushed her gently down again.

"Don't you get it?" His kisses nipped at her throat, her collarbone before his mouth closed over her breast, tonguing her through the fabric until her nipple stiffened beneath his attention, the friction of the bra against her maddening. "The tighter you're bound, the more I want to..." Finishing his sentence with action instead of words, he freed her breasts from the constricting fabric, pushing it up so he could replace it with his hands, rubbing hard circles over her tight nipples. He hadn't bothered to take off his gloves, and now he used them to his advantage, the smooth press of the leather soothing the fiery paths his calloused fingers traced on her bare skin.

"_Oh_," Claire breathed, arching into his touch, whimpering when he took his hands off her to pull the bra over her head and fling it away.

"That's better," he purred appreciatively, bending his head once more and sucking one nipple hard while his thumb flicked the other. Claire flung an arm over her head, one hand pushing against the headboard to anchor herself while the other tangled in his hair, holding him where she wanted him.

His lips snapped at her nipple roughly when he released her, kissing his way up to her mouth, tongue forcing her lips to open. Claire clung to him, pressing her bare breasts against his chest, wishing his shirt was off so she could feel his skin against hers. For some reason, he always seemed to have her naked long before he stripped his own clothes off, and every time she thought the waiting would be the end of her. It registered vaguely that she could be tugging at the hem of his shirt, trying to pull it off him, but as always, his kisses eclipsed rational thought and she could do nothing but hold on tight, legs parting over his hips.

"Better," he murmured, tongue tracing her lower lip. "That's better, isn't it?"

Claire shuddered as his hands slid around to grasp her ass and move her against him, and it was hard to get enough breath to answer him. "Of course it's better underneath the boring clothes," she chided him softly. "Once I'm naked, you could be blind and I'd still amaze you."

"You always amaze me." His laugh was dark and sinful against her ear. "Don't rush me, angel wings. There's nothing boring about these clothes when they're on you," he promised, his voice the feral, passionate growl that told her she was his and no one else's. "When you're dressed like this, all I can think about is unstrapping you, unzipping you so I can touch you all over, kiss you everywhere..."

Self-control evaporated just hearing what he wanted, breathed hot and dark with the promise of pleasure. As Claire rocked against himshe could feel the truth in his words pressed between her legs. "Wouldn't you..._oooh_...prefer a skimpy little minidress?"

"I prefer _you_." His eyes darkened intimately as he adjusted his position so he was lying beside her, his fingers trailing down to the button on her cargo pants. "When you're wearing something like this, it makes me want to see what's underneath," he whispered against her ear, nipping at the lobe while he slipped the button out of its buttonhole. He tugged almost idly at the zipper, pulling it down as slowly as his lips slid down her neck.

"You already _know_ what's underneath," Claire accused, tilting her head to give him better access, but his kisses stopped abruptly at her words. Sliding down her body, he worked the pants down her thighs, revealing a black and pink lace thong. His gaze was intense.

"I know _exactly _what's underneath," he agreed. "That's what gets me so hot when you're dressed like this. On the outside it's all business, but you're still so... sexy... and... soft... underneath." As he spoke, he made short work of the pants, tugging them off her and punctuating each word with a kiss-her stomach, her hip, finally her inner thighs. Claire sighed, closing her eyes to feel first the fabric, then the leather and his fingertips on her, legs spreading slightly in invitation.

Leon chuckled darkly, kissing further up her thigh, sucking teasingly. "This is what I think of doing when you're dressed like this, angel wings. The whole time, I'm thinking of this scrap of lace..." He toyed with her thong, slipping a finger beneath it to stroke her. "Thinking of how wet you are for me, how sweet you taste. Thinking of kissing you right between these... perfect... thighs..." As he spoke, he was already moving to do it, pressing a kiss to the lace covering her, the quick swipe of his tongue through the already soaked garment not enough, not nearly enough, and she whimpered, spreading her legs wider, raising her hips to plead for more.

But Leon backed off, not just off her but off the bed entirely, and Claire would have whimpered at her loss if he hadn't taken her panties with him as he went, fingers hooking through the lace to drag them slowly and teasingly down her legs. Tossing them aside, he took off his shirt, but instead of reaching back and pulling the shirt forward to remove it, he seized the hem and pulled it over his head. Claire knew this was for her benefit-it gave her the best possible view of his muscles working through the movement, and she licked her lips in appreciation of the show.

The shirt joined her panties on the floor, and Leon smiled down at her. "You are so beautiful," he said, "so sweet. Let me-" and before Claire could answer, he grabbed her ankle and pulled, hard, so that she slid towards the edge of the bed.

"Leon-!" she gasped but that was all she got out; he'd knelt between her legs, tongue flicking against her sex greedily.

Claire cried out, lifting her hips, and Leon slid his hands beneath to grip her, pressing her even harder against his demanding mouth. The purr rumbling from him, through her, told her he was enjoying this as much as she was.

"Oh," Claire panted, twisting in his grip. "Please, yes, please..."

"So sweet, angel wings," he rasped, his breath hard and fast. "Come for me."

The words wound her tighter and she arched her back, every muscle tensing against her will.

He knew her too well, knew all her sensitive spots, knew exactly how to stroke her with his tongue, when to press it against the most precious square inch of her until she broke, senses strobing. Sight, sound, touches splintered to pieces around her and she grasped at what she could-his leather-gloved hands holding her tightly in place as she shuddered and writhed, the shadows the bedside lamp threw around them both, his pleased purr deepening to a bass, masculine growl of satisfaction as she shattered against that skillful kiss.

When she felt in possession of herself again, the first thing she felt was a soft press of lips against her thigh, a gentle dragging open-mouthed kiss. Leon climbed back up her languidly, his lower body collapsing against the cradle of her thighs, tongue flicking out against her hip, her breast.

He reached to stroke her face and she nipped at his fingers. Murmuring his approval, he slid two fingertips past her lips, then his index finger. Claire sucked on the offered digit, tongue moving against it in a way he was all too familiar with.

She felt him hard and ready against her, heard his low whine of anticipation and felt the instinctive thrust of his hips. Smiling, he dangled his hand above her like a promised treat, and Claire kissed his fingertips as she undid his gloves, pulling one off with her teeth.

"For someone who thinks she's not sexy, you are..." Leon hissed in a breath as he ground his hips against hers again, "...driving me crazy, angel wings. Have I convinced you yet?"

Still feeling like she was in that glorious chemical change between reality and orgasm, Claire smiled dreamily. "I'm getting there."

"I'll get you there." He thrust more of himself against her every time-hips, chest, mouth; Claire scratched her nails lightly up his back impatiently, knowing the slight sharp pressure would set him ablaze in anticipation of how she clawed him when he'd brought her to climax.

She had a second to see him smile before the world spun briefly; he'd rolled to his back, bringing her atop him. Her gasp was part surprise at the movement and part her reaction to feeling him at a sharper angle, so fucking hard, the barrier of his remaining clothes a now intolerable frustration.

Leaning in close to kiss him, she took a page out of his book and murmured, "For someone who's trying to convince me that I'm so sexy he can't resist me, you have _way_ too many clothes on."

Leon laughed, and the sensation of being atop a laughing man made her feel giddy, like her blood was carbonated. "You're right. Care to lend a hand?"

"I'll give you two." And she did, one tearing roughly at his zipper, the other sliding past his waistband to claim her prize. His lashes fluttered, then closed, head tilting back just a bit as she curled her hand around him.

"Forgive me," she said breathlessly as she stroked him, "but I haven't got any pretty speeches about _your_ clothes. You should take them off."

Abandoning her task abruptly, she shifted her weight so she was facing away from him, unlacing his boots and leaning over to tug them off and drop them at the foot of the bed. His hands curled around her waist, and she could feel the weight of his gaze on her spine, lower. She took her time in turning to face him again, taking herself out of his hands teasingly and leaning back on her heels, almost posing before his hazy eyes.

"Crazy," he panted, reaching for her. "You're crazy if you think you aren't sexy."

She straddled his knees, tugging on one of his belt loops, hooking her other finger into his waistband. "Gimme," she ordered.

"You're the one waiting," he said, and his voice was thick with wanting. "Come here. Come here, so I can watch you."

After waiting so long to get him naked, Claire only took a second to admire the view before mounting him, bracing her hands against his chest. He groaned, one hand gripping her hip, thumb sweeping over places he'd kissed into hypersensitivity. "Move," he panted, and Claire wasn't sure if it was an order or a plea. "I want..."

Claire flicked his nipple almost idly, twisted experimentally when he growled his approval. "What do you want?" she whispered, rocking forward, wanting to repay his professed adoration of her with her most intimate embrace.

"You," Leon groaned, thrusting up to match the roll of her hips. He rushed the word, as if he couldn't catch his breath to say what he really wanted, and then there was no more talking, just increasingly desperate cries from Claire as she realized she was losing her own rhythm in her haste and broken endearments from Leon as he growled his encouragement.

"Yes," he murmured, grasping her hips to bring her harder against him. "Come for me again, baby, I..._fuck_," he cut himself off, moving her faster. Moaning, she let him pace her, rode him harder, and when she came apart a second time he kept his hold on her, slamming her against him until the hot tightness of her body demanded his own release. "_Claire_," he groaned, tightening his grip as he buried himself to the hilt inside her.

Strength, Claire thought dizzily as aftershocks sparked along her skin like electricity. It was his strength that never ceased to amaze her; now he kept her steady as she shuddered and pitched forward. Sitting partway up, he tilted her face to his for a kiss.

"See?" he whispered breathlessly. "When I come that hard, it's for _you_, Claire. I want you." He kissed her again, harder. "I love you."

"Love you, too," she whispered back, letting him untangle her from him and pull her down beside him. His shuddery post-coital breathing was like a lullaby, the dreamy, contented look on his face dispelling all her earlier anxieties.

Facing him, she stroked her knuckles gently down his cheek, chest tightening with that frightening, exciting passion for him. "Don't let it go to your head or anything, ace, but have I told you that you rule?"

Grinning, he pulled her close for a kiss. "Hail to the king, baby."

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

Although anyone reading this should already know this (I assume you're all zombie fans), Leon's quoting **Bruce Campbell as Ash Williams in **_**Army of Darkness**_ a few times in this fic. I was about five feet from Mr. Campbell when I was working New York Comic Con this year. How I didn't melt into a puddle of estrogen, I'm still not sure. Yumm.

I really, really want to dress as **Ellen Ripley **from _Alien_ one Halloween, but it's not funny unless you're going somewhere someone will get the joke. That wasn't necessarily supposed to be an _Alien vs. Predator_ gag, but it just turned out that way.

I'm going to miss Halloween…but this does give me plenty of time to get three more Ninja Turtles on board for next year!


End file.
